Night time at The Circus is the most exciting.
It is when the vampires come to watch. They lust for blood.
They know the wild comes out at night.
There is fire.
The Circus is in a fortunate position. Its blood-trade is spectacle.
Its lineage, too. That is why it is fortunate.
It can pull crowds with its people.
The circus people are like fairground people.
There are none like them.
Luckily for the wild animals The Circus can soon excuse them from service.
Most human beings understand their plight.
Their ‘wildness’ has worn off, anyway. They are tarnished. Has-beens.
Where is the magic in a has-been? If you are honest you will admit there is none.
If you are not convinced then take time to walk around after the show.
Peruse the cages. The stakes.
Notice the eyes of the wild animals. They are dead.
Know that is because they no longer dream.

The subject of the ringmaster is bound to come up. He is a hot topic.
He has begged off again, citing a scratch from one of the big cats.
An infection. Perhaps he will die of tiger?
More likely he will die of scorn. Or rumours.
Whichever, one more no-show and he is out.
There is a three-strike rule for ringmasters.
Of course there is his understudy. There is always an understudy.
Luckily a voice-over is a voice-over no matter who presents.
The ringmaster’s absence does not mean The Circus does not run.
It just manages itself differently.
The wild animals get a night of zoo-treatment. They do not get a night off.
Flashing cameras. Squeals. Pussy-pussy-pussy.
Watch the elephants rocking. Back and forth, back and forth.
They are not dancing, no. They are screaming.
For their captors these screams are not good news.
For the ringmaster, a depression with the elephants is especially bad news.
He is the clown when they refuse later to work for his voice.